


Though the Heavens May Fall

by shaggydogstail



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-13
Updated: 2016-09-10
Packaged: 2018-08-08 13:57:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7760425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shaggydogstail/pseuds/shaggydogstail
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ministry Obliviators were supposed to wipe the memories of all the witnesses to Sirius Black’s ‘murder’ of Peter Pettigrew, but Remus discovers that they weren’t as thorough as they claimed. Someone remembers what really happened that day: but will anyone be willing to listen?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to my lovely beta reader, sheafrotherdon. Thanks also to [](http://www.livejournal.com/userinfo.bml?user=aillil)[](http://www.livejournal.com/users/aillil/)aillil for the Latin.

The shop could have been any one of a thousand like it, rather shabby with battered grilles on the windows. There were garish posters advertising international phone cards and Wall’s ice-cream tacked to the front door, curled and discoloured by the elements. The dim interior may have been due to the proprietor’s desire to save on the electric, though, in a moment of cynicism, Remus wondered if it was to make it harder to read the passing sell-by dates. The linoleum was torn and dirty, rising at the edges, and many of the labels on the rows and rows of tins covering the shelves were peeling or torn—by the till there was a stack of tins with no labels at all, from which the adventurous could take their pick for two pence a time, a bargain price for cling peaches or cat food or baked beans. It was everyday and unremarkable in every way except location, and Remus concentrated on the prosaic shabbiness and told himself he could have been anywhere.

He wasn’t feeling up to lottery by tin can, so he edged his way past the gaggle of youths eyeing the display of cut-price fireworks temporarily housed in the ice-cream cabinet, to get a pint of milk from the fridge.

The woman at the counter seemed disappointed that he wasn’t buying more, and tried to press a packet of biscuits onto him. She said he looked like he needed feeding up. She was probably, right, but Remus just shook his head sadly.

‘Quiet day?’ he said conversationally, hoping to ward off her attempts to ask him if he needed tea-bags (at twice the price of Tesco’s own), without appearing rude.

‘You don’t know the half of it,’ she told him. ‘Bloody gas board had that road up all week, still no word on when it’ll be re-opened. Lost all passing trade, and the noise is driving away the regulars. Killing my business, it is.’

She paused, and they both turned their heads automatically to the door, looking out onto the street full of orange and white tape and tattered carnations hanging from lampposts. Remus hadn’t brought flowers, of course—that would have spoilt the illusion that he was only popping out for a breath of fresh air and a pint of milk, that it was sheer chance that had brought him to this street.

Remus turned back to the shop-keeper, who pursed her lips and looked a little ashamed. ‘Still, don’t suppose its right for me to complain about that, not after what happened to those poor sods. Heard all about it, I suppose?’

‘I, er, read about it,’ Remus told her, faltering slightly, ‘in the newspapers.’

‘Yes, I ’spect you did,’ she nodded sagely. ‘Thirteen people dead, did you ever hear the like? Flaming gas board, useless, they are. I still haven’t got my heating back on, you know. If it weren’t for the Calor heater we’d all freeze to death in our beds.’ 

There wasn’t much to say to that, so Remus turned and glanced around the shop. A girl with plaits and a hole in her woollen tights was hanging off the edge of the counter, eyeing the boys by the firework display with distaste. One of them caught sight of her, and nudged his companion. ‘Look, its crazy Cassie!’ he jeered.

Remus watched warily as the boys turned to the little girl, who couldn’t have been more than nine or ten, with her plastic daisy hair bobbles and faded cord pinafore dress. The boys looked slightly menacing with their mocking sneers and Remus glanced around for the shopkeeper—the girl’s mother, he presumed—but she’d already wandered back into the stockroom in search of a cup of tea and a cigarette.

‘Seen anything scurrying about, Cassie?’ taunted another boy.

‘Squeak! Squeak!’ added a third, in a bemusing display of intimidation.

‘Stop it!’ shouted the girl. ‘Stop it now!’

‘What’s the matter, Cassie?’ asked the boy at the back of the group, barely looking up as he continued to poke around the cabinet full of fireworks. ‘Have you been seeing things again?’

The little girl screwed up her face, eyes tight shut, features curdled in childish anger, and balled her hands into fists, clenched tightly by her sides, as she let out a hiss of anger. Remus was taken aback by the ferocity of her expression, and was surprised again by a cry that sounded from the other end of the shop. The boy, the last one to torment her, was holding his arm, rubbing it angrily.

‘What did you do to him?’ demanded one of his companions. ‘Freak!’

He took a step towards her, the air around him crackling with the ominous threat of adolescent violence, but little Cassie stood her ground and stared him down. ‘Freak!’ he repeated.

The insult had barely passed his lips when the shelf running high along one side of the shop collapsed, tipping jars of coffee, assorted biscuits, toilet rolls and packs of nappies onto the gang of boys, who swore loudly as they raised their arms over their heads. The commotion finally brought the shop keeper back out into the store, and she chased them away, arms flapping as she shouted accusations of yobbishness and threatened to find their parents. The boys muttered darkly and hissed feeble protests as they allowed themselves to be herded out of the shop.

The girl laughed as she saw them leave, the soft peals contrasting vividly with the destruction in front of her. The sound died abruptly when she noticed Remus watching her and she bit her lip nervously. Her eyes dilated saucer-wide when he raised his finger to his lips, miming a secret _shush_ , and he turned and walked out of the shop, smiling for the first time in weeks. She’d find out soon enough.

~*~

The shop wasn’t near Remus’ dingy bed-sit, wasn’t handy for work or the tube, wasn’t near anyone Remus knew. There was nowhere Remus needed to go to be near that over-packed, erratically stocked shop, near that street, near the scene of the crime…

He deluded himself the second time he went there, just as he had the first. He hadn’t set out to find himself in that street; he just ended up there by chance. He didn’t intend to visit Cassie again. It was just coincidence that he ended up in the same shop three days later, buying the only box of unbroken eggs he could find and a tube of toothpaste.

The shopkeeper remembered him—apparently it didn’t take much to be considered a regular—and was chattier than ever. Remus learnt that her name was Judith and that she ran the shop alone, ever since her ‘useless dick of a husband’ had taken off with ‘some trollop from the wholesalers.’ The girl, Cassie, was her daughter, and Judith apologised for the other day. ‘She’s always been a bit odd.’

‘They were picking on her,’ Remus said mildly, ‘those boys. They weren’t very nice.’

‘No,’ Judith sighed sadly. ‘They aren’t. It doesn’t help that Cassie’s… well, you know how kids are. The least sign that someone’s different and they latch onto it, like terriers with a bone. She’s not a bad kid, she just attracts too much attention sometimes. The wrong sort of attention.’

‘I understand,’ said Remus softly.

‘Do you?’ she asked. ‘I’m sure I don’t. Oh, hi, Cassie.’

Remus turned and saw the girl wandering into the shop, sullen and tired-looking in her crumpled school uniform.

‘Lorraine Hollinsworth put _this_ in my schoolbag,’ announced Cassie angrily, producing something grey and furry from her schoolbag. ‘As if I’d be scared of a toy,’ she added with disgust.

‘I hope you didn’t do anything back to her,’ said her mother. ‘I don’t want you getting into any more trouble.’

‘No, mum,’ said Cassie, rolling her eyes. ‘Can I have a lolly?

‘You can have an apple, _after_ you’ve got changed out of your uniform,’ Judith told her briskly. Cassie sighed dramatically, slammed the soft toy down on the counter, and stomped through the back door of the shop. Remus could hear her feet pounding up the stairs. Judith picked the bedraggled lump of fur off the counter and looked at it. ‘It’s a rat,’ she told Remus. ‘Cassie’s...she’s a bit…scared of them I suppose. That’s not unusual, is it?’

Remus was slightly taken aback by the intensity of the question. ‘No,’ he reassured her. ‘I’ve heard it’s quite common. Although there’s really nothing to be afraid of.’ 

He was glad Judith didn’t ask him any more questions. He thought he might choke.

‘I’d better make sure she’s all right,’ Judith announced. ‘Be a love and turn the sign to closed on your way out, would you?’

Remus simply nodded, and wandered silently out of the shop.

It would have been easier, better, healthier to have just gone home. He wondered whatever compelled him to stand in the street, gazing down at the pit of pipes and rubble? Some macabre fascination, perhaps, or simply the desire to torture himself, he thought morosely.

He didn’t know how long he stood there in the chill November wind, unable to tear his eyes away from the dirty black tar, broken grey cement and filthy brown sludge of the cavern in the road. His fingers were tingling as the sensations died away, cold driving out all feeling. Remus felt cold all the way through. 

‘I sometimes watch for him, too.’ 

The voice behind him shook Remus out of his reverie. ‘Watch for whom?’ he asked.

Cassie tilted her head to one side, sucking on a lollipop. The child was a force to be reckoned with. ‘The rat,’ she said simply. ‘The rat who ran away.’

Remus was too bewildered to speak, but Cassie just shrugged and turned away as her mother called her back into the shop.

~*~

Washing up liquid and instant noodles the third time, and Remus’ pretence was wearing thin and expensive. He listened and nodded pleasantly as Judith told him how takings were still down, that the useless gas board still hadn’t fixed the road, how the Cash and Carry was robbing small retailers blind, and that Cassie had been worse since the accident. She looked tired, bewildered by her own daughter, frightened for her, and part of Remus longed to tell her the truth. He remembered Lily telling them that once her parents had got over the shock of her Hogwarts letter and the visit from Professor McGonagall, they seemed almost overcome with relief, and he felt faint.

He didn’t see Cassie while he was in the shop, but again she startled him when he was standing outside, staring into the crater in the road with no idea what he was looking for.

‘Did you know one of them?’

Her face was solemn when Remus turned to look at her, the gravity of her expression incongruous with her bunny-rabbit Alice band and the liquorice string hanging out of the corner of her mouth. He couldn’t answer for a moment, so Cassie continued. ‘Lots of people come and stare, the ones who knew the people who died. That’s where the flowers come from,’ she added, gesturing towards the dying blooms, fresh since Remus’ last visit, but frostbitten already. ‘Did you, then?’

Remus swallowed heavily before speaking. ‘Yes, I did. A friend of mine… a very good friend. He… died. In the accident.’

Cassie tilted her head to one side, chewing her liquorice and regarding Remus closely. ‘It wasn’t an accident,’ she announced.

‘What?’

‘This,’ Cassie said, waving her soggy liquorice string at the hole in the road. ‘It wasn’t an accident. Everyone says a gas main blew up, but that’s a lie.’

Remus blinked at her in confusion. _How could she know? The entire Department of Magical Catastrophes had spent the whole day rounding up all the Muggle witnesses, modifying their memories…_

‘Cassie,’ he said uncertainly, hardly able to look at her for fear of her answer. ‘What did… what do you think happened?’

‘There was this rat, sitting on top of a rubbish bin, right in the middle of where the hole is now,’ she said, pointing. ‘I thought it looked funny…I’ve seen rats before, but they don’t normally sit on top of bins. It kept looking around. Then this man came down the street. He was looking for something in the drains, I think. He kept shining some sort of torch down the gutters—at first I thought he might be a workman, but he didn’t look like one. Then I looked back, and saw a man standing next to the bin. Then the other man saw him and started running towards him, shouting his name.’

‘Peter,’ said Remus quietly.

‘Yeah, that’s right. How did you know?’ Cassie frowned and took another bite of her sweet. ‘Never mind. Anyway, then the first man—the rat one, shouted at the other one, and he just stopped dead, right in the middle of the road there.’ She pointed again.

Remus’ heart was pounding so hard he felt like he might pass out. ‘Did you… did you see what he did, the second man?’

‘He didn’t do anything, he just stood there. The man by the bin—he had brown hair, just like the rat—he had something behind his back. I couldn’t see what it was properly. He shouted at the other man, and then he did something with the thing behind his back and there was a flash of light and a big explosion. It made everything shake: the shop shook so bad that I fell over. I was looking out of my bedroom window, up there, see.’ She pointed at a window in the flat above the shop. Remus could see the outline of stuffed toys on the window sill through the net curtains. ‘Then, when I got up again, the street was full of all these strange people running around, but the rat was there. It watched for a bit, while they took the other man away, and then ran off down a drain. After that, the strange people started going after everyone they could find. I didn’t like it, so I hid under my bed until it was all over.’

Remus shook his head. ‘No, Cassie…you’ve got it wrong. That’s not what happened.’

‘It IS!’ shouted Cassie, stamping her foot. ‘I saw it all. I heard everything they said, I’ve got really good hearing. Do you want to know what the rat-man said before he made everything blow up?’

‘Cassie, you can’t,’ Remus protested feebly. ‘You can’t have heard… your bedroom… it’s too far away.’

‘I’m telling the truth,’ Cassie insisted. ‘You know I am. He shouted, “Lily and James, how could you?” and he called him a name I didn’t understand. Who are Lily and James?’

Remus watched her, shaking for a moment, while Cassie glared at him inquisitively. Then he turned on his heel, and fled.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remus looks for help.

It took three days for Remus to decide what to do - three days of doubts and arguing with himself; three days of trying so hard not to hope he almost couldn’t breath; three days of wondering, wondering, wondering.

Three days of finding new ways to hate Sirius Black.

He’d already hated him for the usual reasons: for joining Voldemort, for the betrayal, for murder. Reasons that, for all their obvious drama, seemed oddly prosaic and impersonal—didn’t _everyone_ hate Sirius for that?

Remus hated him most for the lies—or rather, for his one big lie. Sirius had told anyone who’d listen, time and again with his customary hyperbole, eyes bright and intense as he waved his arms dramatically, that he’d die rather than betray his friends. Remus had flinched every time he’d said it—the thought of Sirius dying surely flew against the laws of nature, he was so bright and indestructible. It was later, when he heard about that night, that he’d found himself thinking vindictively, _why didn’t he just die?_ Remus felt he might just have been able to cope if Sirius had died, at least he would have been able to mourn him properly, without tormenting himself about what Sirius had done and despising himself for missing him. Knowing that Sirius was in Azkaban—that he _deserved_ to be there—was worse than mourning him. It was bad enough that Sirius had left him completely alone, without tarnishing the comfort of his memories in the process. 

And now, now… he had no chance of peace, no resolution, just paralysing uncertainty and crippling hope. Hope, Remus had learnt from bitter experience, was the cruellest thing of all. _It can be true, she can’t be right, you’re deluding yourself._

Eventually, Remus realised he had to tell someone, before he lost what was left of his mind. 

~*~

‘Here, drink this.’

Remus accepted the bone china cup of tea with trembling hands and murmured thanks. It wasn’t quite what he had expected. Still, he was oddly comforted to see that Alastor Moody took his own drinks from his hip-flask even at home.

Moody’s home was a strange place—a small, neat house full of very formal, elderly furniture. The whole house gave the impression of being occupied by octogenarians who hadn’t decorated in fifty years. If not for the bizarre array of Dark Mark detectors scattered across the walnut, there would have been little to indicate this was the home of an Auror.

‘Come on then, boy, spit it out,’ Moody commanded gruffly as he sat down in a stiff-backed armchair. ‘I take it this isn’t a social call?’

‘Not exactly, no,’ admitted Remus hesitantly, struggling for words. Somehow it was harder to tell Moody what had happened than it had been talking to Cassie: explaining it to someone who would know what it meant made everything seem so much more real. Remus felt like he was waking up from a dream he could barely describe. ‘It’s just…I visited the street where…where Sirius was arrested.’ He swallowed heavily and took another sip of tea before continuing. ‘There was this little girl, about ten years old, I’d say. Well… she saw…what happened.’

‘She did, did she?’ asked Moody. ‘Damn Department of Magical Catastrophes, knew we should have dealt with all the Muggles ourselves. Not to worry, Lupin, I’ll drop by and modify her memory myself. Don’t want the kid having nightmares, do we?’

‘That’s not why I came,’ said Remus slowly, unable to meet Moody’s eye as he remembered other visits to this house. He’d tagged along behind Sirius, who’d survived four years of Moody’s special brand of Order training, and developed a deep and abiding case of hero-worship as a result. For his part, Moody had seemed to like Sirius; certainly, he always seemed keen to put him in life threatening situations, which was as close as Moody came to displaying affection toward the rag-tag group of idealistic youngsters under his command. 

‘Tell me, Lupin,’ said Moody, interrupting Remus’ train of thought. ‘Why would you want a little Muggle girl to remember witnessing a mass murder?

‘She isn’t a Muggle,’ Remus told him. ‘I’m fairly sure she’s a witch. Muggle-born, but that isn’t really the point. The thing is, when she told me what she saw, it wasn’t - it wasn’t the story I’d heard from Dumbledore. The one that was in the papers.’

‘No?’ Moody quirked an eyebrow and took a swig from his hip flask. ‘What does she say happened?’

Remus told him—using an inkpot, teaspoons and a slice of Battenberg cake to illustrate the exact positions Cassie had pointed out in the street. Moody listened intently until Remus finished his explanation, and only then looked up and asked, ‘what’s all this about a rat?’

Remus took a deep breath. ‘Peter Pettigrew is…was…’ he sighed and shifted uncomfortably. ‘Peter’s an Animagus.’

‘An unregistered Animagus?’ Moody clarified.

‘Yes,’ admitted Remus, feeling a familiar thrill of shame and pride at once; shame at the danger he’d lead his friends into, and his continuing unwillingness to disclose their secret to Dumbledore, mingled with pride at his friends’ accomplishment. He vividly recalled seeing the rat for the first time, and it was hard not to smile, remembering Peter’s unease about his unimpressive animal form, and James’ blithe assurance that his size would ‘come in useful.’ 

To Remus’ intense relief, Moody did not press him for details about how or why Peter became an Animagus, but instead stood up and started pacing the floor, his wooden leg stumping heavily across the threadbare carpet. ‘Still, the girl’s story doesn’t make much sense. What was Pettigrew up to? And Black, for that matter.’

Remus bit his lip and didn’t answer, focusing instead on the faded gilt on the teaspoon, the curly lace doilies on the coffee table, anything rather than meet Moody’s eye. The chance—the _hope_ —was almost unbearable as it was: far better to hold it tightly to himself, rather than speak it aloud, letting the words tumble out to be crushed by logic and counter-arguments. 

‘Unless…’ Moody stopped pacing suddenly, and turned to look at Remus, tapping his chin with a gnarled finger. ‘Black was the Potters’ Secret Keeper, was he?’

‘Yes,’ said Remus miserably. There was no getting around it. What did it matter if Sirius had or hadn’t blown up the street full of Muggles when he’d betrayed Lily and James?

Moody started moving again, stumping over to the writing bureau in the far corner of the room. He shuffled through various bundles of parchment, muttering to himself until he found what he was looking for, studying it closely before turning back to Remus. ‘There’s to be an inquest into the Potters’ deaths, you know. Dumbledore says in his evidence that Black acted as their Secret Keeper, but he doesn’t say who cast the spell.’ He frowned and looked at Remus. ‘I think we’d better have a word with Dumbledore, don’t you?’

‘I, um,’ Remus stuttered paused, furrowing his brow. ‘I don’t understand.’

‘Do you want to know what happened to your friends or not?’ demanded Moody.

‘I…’ Remus hesitated. ‘I need to know the truth.’

‘Good, good,’ said Moody, heading for the fireplace. ‘Well, come on then.’

Remus opened his mouth to question Moody, but the latter was already scooping up a handful of Floo powder and pushing him towards the fireplace.

~*~

Remus sat in dazed silence as he listened to Moody recount everything he had told him to Dumbledore. The Headmaster’s office was comfortingly familiar, quiet save for Moody’s rough voice and the soft whir of dozens of magical devices. The portraits on the walls stood silent, studiously pretending not to listen in on the conversation. Remus himself kept a steady gaze on his own shoelaces, though he could feel Dumbledore’s cool stare in his direction from time to time. 

Dumbledore listened to Moody’s account in silence, only turning to question Remus when the other man had finished speaking. ‘This girl—Cassie—are you sure her story is reliable?’

‘I think so, sir,’ said Remus quietly. ‘At least, she believes she’s telling the truth. She would have had a clear view of the street from her bedroom window and she told me that she hid under the bed when half the Ministry turned up in the middle of the street. It’s possible that they could have missed her.’

‘Indeed,’ said Dumbledore, pressing his fingers together. ‘Almost anything is possible.’ He turned and looked at Moody. ‘And what did you wish to ask me, Alastor? Another possibility you wished to discuss, perhaps?’

‘Just want to check I’ve got everything straight, Dumbledore,’ Moody told him, producing the parchment he’d been reading earlier from a pocket in his robes. ‘I see you’re down to give evidence at the inquiry into the Potter’s deaths. You’ll be telling them that Black acted as their Secret Keeper. How do you know that?’

Remus was slightly taken aback by the accusatory tone of Moody’s voice, but Dumbledore seemed unruffled. ‘James Potter told me himself.’

‘Strange answer, that, Dumbledore,’ growled Moody. It was becoming increasingly apparent that Moody was more accustomed to interrogating potential Death Eaters than to friendly conversation. ‘Don’t you mean that Black told you where they were? You wouldn’t have been able to make contact with the Potters after the Fidelius Charm was cast unless he told you, would you?’

Dumbledore smiled slightly. ‘You are quite correct, Alastor. James merely informed me of his intention to use Sirius as Secret-Keeper. I have not spoken to him, Lily, or Sirius, since the day before they were due to cast the spell.’ 

Remus looked up suddenly, blinking. ‘So Sirius might not have been the Secret Keeper? He didn’t betray Lily and James?’

‘Hold your horses, laddie, once step at a time,’ said Moody gruffly. ‘We know that the Potters planned to make Black their Secret Keeper, or at least that’s what they told everyone.’

‘But…but they might not have done,’ said Remus tentatively. ‘It might not have been Sirius. He could be innocent. Couldn’t he?’ Remus glanced at Dumbledore, imploring.

‘James was most insistent that Sirius was the best choice for Secret Keeper,’ answered Dumbledore gently. ‘Lily, too. They trusted him implicitly.’

Remus looked desperately over at Moody, who was frowning thoughtfully. ‘Circumstantial evidence, Dumbledore, it doesn’t prove anything,’ he said. ‘We don’t know what really happened.’

‘True,’ said Dumbledore mildly. ‘Though there are others in Azkaban with less evidence against them.’

Moody snorted. ‘You know me, Dumbledore, I’ve never been happy with Crouch chucking suspects in Azkaban without a trial.’ He paused and took a long swig from his hipflask, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand before he continued. ‘If Black worked for Voldemort he can rot with the Dementors for all I care. But if there’s a chance he’s innocent, we need to be sure.’ Moody turned and looked at Dumbledore directly. ‘He was one of us, maybe he still is. We owe it to him to find out the truth at least.’

‘You’ll hear no argument from me on that, Alastor,’ answered Dumbledore. ‘However, uncovering the truth may be no simple matter.’

‘You could do it, though, couldn’t you?’ asked Remus, standing up suddenly and peering hopefully over Dumbledore’s desk. 

‘Alas, even I am not quite all knowing,’ Dumbledore told him with a rueful smile.

Remus pressed on regardless. ‘You could find out though. There must be a way. You could find it.’

Dumbledore was silent for a moment. ‘There may be something,’ he said at last. ‘It is, however, a very slim chance. I won’t make you any promises.’

‘But you’ll try?’

‘I’ll look into it,’ answered Dumbledore simply. ‘In the meantime, I must ask you not to speak of this matter other than to Alastor or myself. Sirius’ reputation at the current time is such that it would be unwise for you to align yourself with his case.’

‘Meaning I shouldn’t look too sympathetic to a suspected Death Eater if I want to keep out of Azkaban myself?’ asked Remus.

‘I’m afraid that is exactly what I mean,’ said Dumbledore gravely. ‘I suggest you go home now, Remus, and if you need to speak to either Alastor or myself you can do so in the usual way. I must also insist that you stay away from the girl, Cassie, at least for the time being. I will see you at the inquest.’

‘The inquest?’ stammered Remus. ‘Oh, yes, of course.’ He hadn’t planned on attending. There hadn’t seemed any point until now.

‘I’ll see you home, laddie,’ announced Moody gruffly. Remus was about to protest that he didn’t need an escort, but then decided that any excuse to delay the moment he would be alone with his thoughts again would be useful, and nodded.

‘Before you go, Alastor, is there any word on Frank and Alice?’ enquired Dumbledore.

‘I’m afraid not,’ muttered Moody, an uncharacteristic hint of sadness flitting across his scar-gouged face. ‘We’ve got half the Ministry out looking for them, we’ll find them eventually. And whatever scum took them.’

‘We must certainly hope for their safe return,’ said Dumbledore gently. ‘Well, goodnight Alastor, Remus. Take care.’

‘Yes, I will,’ Remus assured him as Moody passed the jar of Floo powder to him. ‘Goodnight.’

~*~

Remus didn’t hear from Moody or Dumbledore until the morning of the inquest, when Moody turned up at his bed-sit unannounced. It was clear from Moody’s evasive answers to Remus’ questions that he and Dumbledore had been up to something, and equally clear that, whatever it was, Remus wasn’t being let in on the secret.

He felt a twinge of annoyance at being kept in the dark, but kept it to himself. He could barely trust himself to speak at all—his throat felt horribly constricted and his stomach was in knots. Remus had scarcely eaten or slept since his last meeting with Cassie four days previously, and was weak with nerves and exhaustion. His head throbbed so painfully that he wondered if he’d ever manage a coherent thought again. Remus struggled to keep up the cover of quiet reserve which had protected him for so long, fearing the inevitable moment when it all came crashing down around him leaving him vulnerable and exposed. 

Still, he managed to Apparate to the Ministry of Magic without splinching himself, and tolerated Moody placing a gnarled hand on his shoulder to guide him through the maze of corridors, up stairs and in and out of lifts in a daze, barely noticing the owls swooping inches above his head. ‘Damn birds,’ muttered Moody as a Tawny owl relieved itself mid-swoop in front of them. ‘You’d think someone would come up with a better way of sending memos.’

Remus blinked as Moody pushed him into a large high-ceilinged room. There were dozens of people packed into pews at one end of the room. At the other, separated by a low wooden barrier, were a row of Ministry officials sitting behind a solid oak desk. To one side of the Ministry table stood a tall lectern, and on the other, a Junior Ministry Clerk sat behind a small desk, already scribbling copious notes, while a woman with bright, blonde hair glanced curiously over the crowd. The noise of the audience’s chatter made Remus’ head throb.

‘Is it always like this?’ he asked Moody as they negotiated their way into the room.

‘For an inquest?’ asked Moody. ‘No, not usually. Normally just a formality, but, well, this isn’t a normal case. Right, Lupin, you sit yourself down there, and I’ll see you later. Got to go and sit up front, see.’ He patted Remus on the shoulder and started to hobble off.

‘But… Dumbledore,’ protested Remus weakly.

‘You’ll see,’ called Moody over his shoulder as he made his way to the front of the room.

Confused, Remus squeezed into a bench on the third row. He was pressed rather uncomfortably against a witch in lavender robes, who he half-recognised as a Ravenclaw from the year above him at Hogwarts. He considered introducing himself, but didn’t feel much like conversation. Besides, she was too busy munching through a bag of coconut swirls and craning her neck for a better view to even notice him.

The chatter in the room finally died down when the inquest was called to order by Amelia Bones from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Remus didn’t know her personally, but suspected that senior Ministry officials didn’t ordinarily spend their time worrying about what to put on a death certificate. It was another chilling indication that this was not a straightforward inquest.

He only half-heard the first part of the proceedings, as dates and cause of death were calculated with the aid of testimony from a Healer from St Mungo’s and a statement from Hagrid about when the bodies had been found. It was hard to believe that the people being discussed in the past tense by strangers before a packed audience were two of his closest friends.

It was only when Dumbledore took the stand to give evidence that Remus sat up straight and strained for a better view along with the rest of the crowd. Most of what he said Remus had already heard: he knew the Potters’ had been attacked following a warning from Fawkes, the phoenix, who had been watching over the family; he had dispatched Hagrid to check the scene and recover their infant son; he himself had advised them that the Fidelius Charm offered their best protection from being found by Voldemort

Amelia Bones cast her eyes over the sheaf of parchments before her. ‘I understand the Potters’ used Sirius Black as their Secret Keeper, is that correct?’ she asked.

‘I really cannot say,’ answered Dumbledore mildly. ‘They certainly advised me that it was their intention to do so, but as I did not speak to either the Potters or Mr Black after the spell was carried out, I cannot confirm the allegation one way or the other.’

There was a sudden ripple of noise through the room as members of the audience mumbled to one and other in surprise. Remus felt every muscle in his body tighten.

‘Quiet please!’ demanded Madam Bones, banging a gavel down on the table before her. She turned her attention back to Dumbledore, squinting at him through her eye-glass. ‘I understand Black is already serving a life sentence in Azkaban for his crimes. Is there really any doubt about this?’

‘Perhaps not, madam,’ said Dumbledore. ‘However, it may be that there is a very simple way to determine the matter one way or the other.’

‘Well, well, Dumbledore, don’t keep us in suspense,’ barked Madam Bones. ‘Tell us what it is.’

‘While I was discussing security measures with the Potters, it was agreed that they would attempt to avoid the use of magic while they were in hiding, lest it be detected. I understand from Alastor Moody that the Potters’ wands were recovered from Godric’s Hollow, and that Lily Potter’s wand was found some distance from her body. It seems likely, therefore, that she was unable to use it to defend herself against Voldemort and that the last spell she cast was the Fidelius Charm.’

There was a collective gasp from the audience, but Madam Bones simply nodded briskly. ‘So we can check the last spell using _priori incantatem_? Very well, I don’t see why not. Alastor,’ she called, turning to Moody who was sitting a few seats to her left. ‘You have already discussed this matter with Professor Dumbledore, I take it. Do you have Mrs Potter’s wand?’

‘Right here,’ said Moody, passing a thin black box to her, which Madam Bones accepted before turning back to Dumbledore again. ‘Professor, would you do the honours?’

‘Certainly,’ confirmed Dumbledore with a courteous nod. He stepped around the lectern and took the box containing Lily’s wand.

Remus watched the entire scene with baited breath. He found himself edging forward in his seat, eager to see what happened next. He’d seen the spell used before, to force the Dark Mark out of Death Eater wands, but he had no idea what would happen when the Fidelius Charm was recreated.

There was a hushed silence in the room, all eyes trained on Dumbledore as he stepped back behind the lectern and removed the wand from its casing. He held it up with one hand, removed his own wand from his robes with the other, and lifted them up, tip to tip. ‘ _Prior Incatato!_ ’

A burst of light erupted from the tip of Lily’s wand, followed by a trail of thin, golden mist. The mist hung in the air, formless and still for a moment, and then a voice echoed through the room.

_‘Domus Potteri familae in locis demissis Godrici.  
Cognitionem loci domus Potterorum meam facio.’_

Remus blinked and gulped heavily as Lily’s voice rang out from her wand, reciting the incantation in low, steady tones.

‘ _Cognitio mea est, et solum mea._  
_Eandem custodiam._  
_Mea dando.’_

As the sound of the spell continued to fill the room, the swirling golden mists in front of Dumbledore shifted and grew closer together. They seemed to be moving into some form—a human outline. Several members of the audience were on their feet, agog to see what form the mists took. Remus stood up too, straining to see over the shoulders of those in front of him.

_Cognitionem Petro Parvestaturae do, quod fidem meam habeat._  
_Abhinc cognitio abstrusus in anima Petri Parvestaturae esto._  
_Cognitio sua est, et solum sua._  
_Eandem custodiet._  
_Sua dando._

As Lily’s words died away, the face in the mist became clear: it was Peter Pettigrew.

The crowd surged forward, knocking Remus over. His head cracked against the bench in front of him as he fell to the ground.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Fidelius Charm was written for me by [](http://www.livejournal.com/userinfo.bml?user=aillil)[](http://www.livejournal.com/users/aillil/)aillil. In English it reads:
> 
> The house of the Potter family is located in Godric's Hollow.  
> I make the knowledge about the house of the Potters mine.  
> The knowledge is mine, and only mine.  
> I will guard it.  
> It is mine to give (away).  
> I give the knowledge to Peter Pettigrew,  
> because he has my trust.  
> From now on the knowledge shall be hidden in the soul of Peter Pettigrew.  
> The knowledge is his, and only his.  
> He will guard it.  
> It is his to give (away)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ‘When can I see him?’ asked Remus eagerly. ‘Have they let him out yet? Where is he?’ Remus nearly tripped over the words as they spilt out in an exuberant rush, his mind racing. _It wasn’t him, he didn’t do it, he’s innocent. Sirius, Sirius, Sirius…_

The light was dazzling bright in Remus’ eyes when he awoke in a strange bed. The sheets beneath him felt stiff with starch and there was a faint whiff of antiseptic in the air. Remus struggled to sit up with some difficulty—his entire body was aching, and he could feel the burning throb of half-heeled cuts on his chest and arms. Glancing down, he saw a bone crossed wand embroidered onto the scratchy green blanket. He was in St Mungo’s.

‘Ah, Remus, I see you are awake at last,’ said a voice several feet away. Remus craned his neck to see Dumbledore walking into the room. ‘How do you feel?’

‘Sore,’ muttered Remus hoarsely. ‘What happened? How long have I been here?’

‘A few days,’ answered Dumbledore, settling himself down in a chair next to the bed. ‘You sustained a minor head injury when you fell, and the Healers felt it would be best to keep you in until after—’

‘—the full moon,’ groaned Remus regretfully. It wasn’t the first time he’d been forced to undergo his transformation in one of the cells in the Werewolf Care and Containment Unit at St Mungo’s, though, as he had on every previous occasion, he sincerely hoped it was his last. He glanced around slowly, trying to get his bearings—the long periods under sedation always left him feeling confused.

‘A private room?’ he said at last, noticing the space and the fresh décor around him. 

Dumbledore smiled slightly. ‘They brought you up this morning.’

Remus managed a weak smile in return. ‘Thank-you,’ he whispered. He closed his eyes and tried to remember— _so tired, head aching, confusion… he had fallen…_

‘The inquest,’ Remus recalled suddenly, screwing up his eyes in concentration. ‘Lily’s wand, the Charm… it wasn’t him. Sirius is innocent…’

‘Yes,’ said Dumbledore. ‘He is.’

‘When can I see him?’ asked Remus eagerly. ‘Have they let him out yet? Where is he?’ Remus nearly tripped over the words as they spilt out in an exuberant rush, his mind racing. _It wasn’t him, he didn’t do it, he’s innocent. Sirius, Sirius, Sirius…_

‘I regret,’ said Dumbledore sadly, ‘that things are not quite that simple. Sirius is still in Azkaban. Bartemius Crouch is rather, ah, reluctant to reconsider Sirius’ sentence.’

‘What?’ gasped Remus. ‘But… but, he’s innocent. You proved he wasn’t the Secret Keeper. And Cassie saw what really happened to all those Muggles. Why won’t Crouch just let him go?’

‘You are familiar, I expect, with Crouch’s reputation,’ said Dumbledore. ‘He displays an exceptional unwillingness to consider that he may be wrong, especially since he personally gave the order for Sirius to be sent straight to Azkaban.’

‘Without a trial,’ said Remus angrily, ignoring the guilty voice at the back of his head, reminding him that he’d been _glad_ when he first heard that Sirius wouldn’t be granted a trial, unable to bear the overwhelming evidence of his guilt. ‘But it’s obvious now that he didn’t do it. The wand, and Cassie…’

‘Crouch maintains that the wand may have been tampered with, and the word of a Muggle child does not carry a great deal of weight,’ said Dumbledore. ‘There is also another factor: Crouch may not consider it politic to appear anything less than resolute against the Dark Arts.’

‘Another factor?’ asked Remus. ‘What?’

Dumbledore sighed. ‘Alas, you are not the only patient I will be visiting in St Mungo’s today. Frank and Alice Longbottom were admitted yesterday.’

‘What happened to them?’

‘They’d been captured by a group of Death Eaters,’ explained Dumbledore sadly. ‘They were tortured,’ he added, an uncharacteristic note of bitterness in his tone. ‘The Healers fear they may never recover their minds.’

Remus’ jaw dropped open in shock. ‘That… that’s terrible,’ he whispered.

‘Yes,’ said Dumbledore quietly. He looked tired, and suddenly rather older than usual. ‘Not only is this a tragedy for the Longbottom family, it does not bode well for Sirius. Naturally, there has been an outcry about the attack, making it all the more unlikely that Crouch will do anything that might compromise his reputation for taking a firm stance against anyone suspected of having worked for Voldemort.’

Remus sunk back down into the pillows, defeated. The pain in his body was suddenly almost unbearable, and his head was throbbing. Dumbledore stood up and looked down on him kindly. ‘I should go,’ he said softly. ‘You need to rest.’

‘But, Sirius…’

‘It’s not over yet,’ Dumbledore assured him. ‘Alastor and I are making enquiries. I am not without influence, and it may yet be possible to arrange a trial at least.’

‘Thank-you,’ said Remus weakly. Dumbledore smiled in return and turned to leave. 

~*~

Remus discharged himself from St Mungo’s as soon as he was able to walk to the main desk, ignoring the Healers’ protestations about his need to rest. He found the very notion that he could lie back and relax while Sirius was languishing in Azkaban ludicrous.

Feeling too weak to Apparate so soon after the full moon, he caught the Knight Bus home. The journey was as uncomfortable as ever, and Remus spent most of it with his hand clasped over his mouth, for fear of being forcibly reacquainted with his breakfast.

Still groggy from the range of potions poured down his throat in St Mungo’s and nauseous from the ride, Remus dragged himself up the stairs in the Muggle boarding house he laughingly called home, clinging to the banister for support. It creaked ominously under his weight. The stairway was filthy as ever, and his nostrils were assaulted by the familiar stench of stale cooking and cheap detergents. Remus wanted nothing more than to get to his room and collapse on the lumpy bed, with the door locked behind him.

His inability to _unlock_ the door and the curt note that he had to strain his eyes to read tacked onto it told him it was not to be. Half an hour and an argument with the landlord later, Remus was sitting on the pavement, his worldly goods stuffed into a couple of black bin liners and the words _what do you expect if you don’t pay your rent?_ ringing in his ears.

Remus gazed miserably out onto the street, barely registering the double decker buses thundering past, the couple arguing on the other side of the road, or the squalling child spitting her dummy into the dirt as her mother trudged onwards, pushing the buggy with grim determination and gritted teeth. His exhaustion was almost overwhelming. He’d come close—too close—to this point in the past, between Hogwarts and Sirius; after, when everything had started falling apart. Somehow, he’d always coped himself, too proud to ask his friends for help. Now, he had no pride left, and no friends either.

He shook his head and fought back a wave of self-pity. He had no-where to go—unless…

The bag ripped open as Remus disgorged his life over the pavement, scarcely caring about getting ash on his clothes or cat piss on his books as he rummaged through the pile of belongings, until he found… yes, he still had it: the key to Sirius’ flat. Remus kept the small sliver of metal pressed into his palm as he bundled up his possessions and set off, with a sense of desperation that was for so much more than a roof over his head.

~*~

It took Remus the better part of the day to make it from Holloway Road to Holland Park, and it was dark by the time he reached the row of converted townhouses that Sirius had called home for five years. The white-fronted building seemed to glow against the street lights, and inside the main stairwell was clean and smelt of pine.

Remus was relieved that Sirius hadn’t changed the locks, because it meant that Sirius hadn’t really shut him out. Of course, Sirius could have kept him out of the building with a flick of his wand, but Remus chose not to dwell on that.

The flat was cold and unnaturally still, with a whiff of stale milk in the air. Further investigation revealed that the Cooling Charms on the fridge had expired, and Remus held his nose while he Vanished the entire contents. The place was eerily quiet as Remus walked from room to room, his footsteps echoing over the polished wooden floors as he remembered that this had once been his home too. 

The peace was shattered by an owl hooting loudly at the window—Remus let it in and was surprised to see that the _Daily Prophet_ was still being delivered. He placed a knut from the pile Sirius had left on the windowsill in the pouch on the bird’s leg, and fed it a stale biscuit scavenged from the kitchen. He watched the owl fly off into the night before unrolling the newspaper with only half-hearted interest.

The front page was covered with news about the capture of a group of Death Eaters believed to be responsible for the kidnapping of the Longbottoms, including, Remus was startled to note, Barty Crouch’s own son. Inside the paper was full of page after page of lurid speculation about the Crouch family, and just what sort of a father would let his son join the Death Eaters. Remus felt a tug of sympathy for Crouch Senior, but then remembered the man’s refusal to allow Sirius a trial. He threw the newspaper down on the mantelpiece with a snort of disgust.

The discarded paper knocked familiar rows of photographs askew, as well as several of Harry that Remus hadn’t seen. He shuddered involuntarily as Lily and James laughed and waved at him from an assortment of frames: James, mud-spattered and bedraggled, but triumphant, holding the Quidditch Cup above his head; Lily pretending to hide behind the over-sized teddy bear that Sirius had presented her with upon hearing about her pregnancy. Sirius himself floated back and forth on a swing, grinning as he held a laughing Harry on his lap. Looking at the images of Hogwarts, Lily and James’ wedding, that weekend in Cornwall, Remus felt the past mocking him, offering a sea of moving, two-dimensional reminders of everything he had lost.

Remus picked up a picture of James and Sirius, arms wrapped around each other’s shoulders, eyes bright as they smiled into the future on the last day at Hogwarts. ‘Wish you were here, Prongs,’ he whispered to the cheerful, fearless face in front of him. ‘You’d know what to do, wouldn’t you?’ Clutching the photograph, Remus sat down slowly on the sofa, wishing that it was James who was left instead of him, certain that his clever, brave, unstoppable friend would have found a way to help Sirius, to get him out of Azkaban, just as he’d been the one to help him flee the velvet prison of his ancestral home. Remus knew he was all Sirius had left now, and a horrible sense of inadequacy and weakness seized him. He finally let the tears he’d held back for so long fall as he lay back on the sofa to be consumed by a restless sleep.

~*~

The incessant barking of a small, but very loud bulldog gave Remus a rather rude awakening the following morning. Blinking up in confusion, he saw the silvery form of Alastor Moody’s patronus, telling him get down to his office sharpish.

It took Remus barely twenty minutes to change his clothes, bolt down a breakfast of cold baked beans and Floo to the Ministry. He allowed himself to feel a glimmer of hope as he rushed to Moody’s office, feeling Moody must have a good reason for summoning him so quickly.

Moody was talking animatedly with a couple of people Remus didn’t recognise—presumably other Aurors—when he arrived, and waited until they had left and shut the door behind them before turning to Remus.

‘Now then, Lupin,’ said Moody, with that odd, twisted smile, ‘I expect you’re wondering why I called you over here in such a hurry.’

‘Yes,’ admitted Remus. ‘I was hoping… have you found anything that might help Sirius?’

Moody chuckled oddly. ‘I might well have found something that will help him rather a lot,’ he said, sitting down at his desk. ‘I’ve been going through everything we’ve got on Black, including a report from the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts office a couple of years back about a motorcycle he’d supposedly enchanted to fly.’

‘Oh,’ said Remus quietly. ‘That.’ He didn’t see how petty law-breaking was going to help Sirius’ case.

‘There didn’t seem much in it—the report said he’d been given a warning, that there was nothing to follow up, and there’s been nothing on file since. Still, I thought it wouldn’t hurt to have a word with the officer who wrote it, chap by the name of Arthur Weasley.’

Remus frowned. ‘I’m sorry, but I don’t understand. What’s Sirius’ motorcycle got to do with any of this?’

‘Nothing really,’ answered Moody gruffly. ‘But Weasley does. Or rather, his wife, Molly. She was Molly Prewett, Gideon and Fabian’s sister. You’ve probably met her.’

‘Only at the funerals,’ said Remus sadly, vaguely recalling a harassed-looking woman with brilliant red hair and innumerable children. ‘But I don’t see—’

‘Arthur was telling me that Molly’s found a new pet,’ said Moody. ‘I only asked after her to get him to stop bending my ear about carburettors, but it’s as well I did.’

‘A new pet?’

‘Yes, planning to give it to one of their boys as a Christmas present,’ said Moody, eyeing Remus beadily. ‘A rat. Seems Molly took pity on the creature after it turned up in her kitchen. Said it was obviously a stray pet and not just vermin because it’s completely domesticated, and decided to give it a good home.’

‘I’m not sure I’d recommend a rat as a good pet to anyone these days,’ said Remus bitterly. ‘But I suppose I shouldn’t be prejudiced.’

Moody stared at him harder than ever. ‘She felt sorry for it,’ he said pointedly. ‘Because it was injured. It had a toe missing on its front paw.’

It took a few seconds for comprehension to sink in. ‘All they ever found of Peter,’ Remus said slowly, ‘was his finger. He cut it off himself?’

‘Could be,’ said Moody. ‘We’ll find out soon enough. I’ve asked Weasley to nip back home and fetch the beast.’

‘Surely it can’t be him,’ said Remus. ‘I mean, there are millions of rats. The chances of it actually being Peter…’

‘Not so unlikely, really,’ growled Moody. ‘Think about it: if you were in his position, where would you go? Not likely to want to hang around the sewers for too long. Life as a pet is far more comfortable. Not to mention that living with a Wizarding family would give him plenty opportunity to keep an ear open for what’s happening.’

Remus stared at Moody in stunned silence, shaking his head slowly. It was all a bit too much to take in. His efforts to re-order his jumbled thoughts were interrupted when Moody stood up suddenly, nodding toward the window in his office door with a jolt of his head. ‘There’s Weasley now. Right, Lupin, you might want to make yourself scarce for a moment. Don’t want to give Pettigrew any chance to realise what’s up and give us the slip again.’

Still bewildered, Remus stepped across the room and did his best to conceal himself behind a coat stand. Moody greeted a rather flustered-looking Arthur Weasley, who was carrying a squirming package, before he called back the other Aurors and closed the door. He took the rat from Arthur and called for Remus to step out.

It didn’t feel like a great capture of a Death Eater: Remus felt rather absurd as he moved to the centre of the room, watched closely by the Aurors and Arthur Weasley, who was muttering about his wife having his guts for garters. He peered at the rat which was twisting under Moody’s grip, squeaking loudly as Remus drew near.

Of course, there had to be a million rats, but still…

‘Hello, Peter,’ said Remus, before raising his wand to force the rat into a terrified, twitchy little man with matted brown hair.

~*~

Over the following hour, Remus watched events unfold with a curious sense of detachment, only half-hearing Arthur Weasley’s astonished muttering, the scuffle as the Aurors removed Peter, his old friend’s pitiful pleas as Moody told him he would be sent to Azkaban, or Crouch scurrying in, blithering and flustered. Remus was dimly aware that he _ought_ to feel something—revulsion at seeing Peter, knowing what he’d done; relief that they finally had irrefutable proof of Sirius’ innocence to present to Crouch; elation at the prospect of clearing Sirius’ name—but he only felt numb. Overwhelmed and drained of emotion, he sunk down on a chair near the corner of the room, hiding his head in his hands.

Even as the conversation between Moody and Crouch became increasingly heated, Remus barely paid any attention to it. It was only when Moody thumped his desk in frustration and roared at Crouch that Remus finally focused on the scene in front of him.

‘Damnit, man, can you not just admit you might be wrong,’ thundered Moody. ‘Or is an innocent man’s life worth less than your pride?’

‘I’ll thank you, Alastor, to remember who you’re speaking to,’ countered Crouch angrily. ‘As for Black, Pettigrew’s capture proves nothing. For all we knew the pair of them were in on it together!’

Moody glared at Crouch with loathing. ‘I’ve spent twenty years tracking down Dark Wizards, and I know one when I see one,’ he snarled. ‘I knew Black, and he’s no Death Eater.’

‘Perhaps you’re losing your touch,’ said Crouch.

‘Sirius isn’t a Death Eater!’ exclaimed Remus suddenly, surprising himself as much as Crouch and Moody with his outburst. He could scarcely believe what he was hearing—Crouch was planning to let Sirius spend the rest of his life in Azkaban, just because it was more convenient for him. ‘He’s innocent.’

Crouch turned and looked at him, lip curling disdainfully. ‘Friend of yours, was he?’ he sneered. ‘Perhaps you should have got to know him a little better.’

‘People who live in glass houses,’ snarled Moody. ‘You’re not in much of a position to be lecturing anyone about spotting Death Eaters so close to home.’

‘Watch your step, Moody,’ hissed Crouch. ‘Why, I’ve a good mind to—’

Crouch’s tirade was interrupted by a cough coming from the doorway. Remus, Arthur Weasley, Crouch and Moody all turned to look at Dumbledore, who was surveying the scene, looking supremely calm.

‘Gentlemen, please forgive the intrusion, but might I be permitted to speak with Mr Crouch?’

‘Dumbledore,’ said Crouch, forcing politeness through gritted teeth. ‘How might I be of assistance?’

‘I simply wished to be the first to offer my congratulations.’ Dumbledore smiled warmly, offering his hand. Crouch shook it, but eyed Dumbledore with some distrust. ‘Why, the whole Ministry is already talking about Pettigrew’s capture! Quite a coup, I’d say.’

‘Well, yes,’ said Crouch, clearly taken aback by Dumbledore’s praise.

‘I expect it won’t be long until half the country is talking about it,’ continued Dumbledore. His tone was mild, but Remus noticed the familiar twinkle in his eyes. ‘To say nothing of the acres of copy the story will provide for the _Daily Prophet_. Pettigrew’s trial will be quite a sensation.’

Crouch’s face contorted in distaste at the mention of the _Prophet_. ‘Make a nice change for them to concentrate on some real news,’ he said grimly.

‘So you’ll give Pettigrew a trial,’ growled Moody suspiciously. ‘What about Black?’

Crouch shot him a look of intense dislike. ‘Fine,’ he spat. ‘They can go on trial together. Satisfied?’

‘It’ll do,’ said Moody gruffly. Crouch simply sneered at him again, before turning on his heel and marching out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

‘Nicely played, Dumbledore,’ said Moody with a smile. ‘Should have known old Crouch would do anything to detract attention from his wayward son.’

‘Yes, thank you,’ said Remus breathlessly. He could hardly believe it—there was no way Sirius would be convicted at trial. He was coming home. ‘Thank you so much.’

Dumbledore’s expression was solemn when he turned to Remus. ‘Securing a trial is just the first step. We must also ensure that Sirius gets a fair hearing. The little girl you told me about, do you think her mother will allow her to testify?’

‘I’m not sure,’ said Remus carefully. ‘She seemed nice enough, but it might be a bit of a shock to her. She doesn’t even know that her daughter is a witch.’

‘Looks like you’ve got a lot to tell her, Lupin,’ barked Moody.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Sirius and Peter's trial fast approaching, it's up to Remus to tell Judith that not only is her daughter a witch, she's also needed as the star witness at a magical murder trial. Oh, and there's the small matter of convincing Sirius to testify in his own defence as well.

Dumbledore met Remus around the corner from the shop an hour later, after they’d both changed into Muggle clothing. Remus was accustomed feeling a little embarrassed that his clothes were worn and unfashionable, but on this occasion he was certain no-one was going to even notice what he was wearing. Dumbledore sported a crimson brocade suit with a frilly cream silk shirt and patent leather boots. The effect was striking, though rather better suited to a late Nineteenth Century Music Hall entertainer than a man trying to look inconspicuous in a run-down Muggle back street.

Remus told Dumbledore Cassie’s story again as they walked towards the shop. Dumbledore smiled indulgently as Remus babbled excitedly, but Remus was too full of nervous excitement to care that he was twittering. He had something to look forward to at last.

They found Judith stacking Pot Noodles when they arrived in the shop, and Remus and Dumbledore loitered by the crisps while she finished, then sold two tins of tuna fish and a packet of prunes to an elderly woman in a knitted mauve hat before approaching her. 

‘Judith,’ Remus began hesitantly.

She turned and looked at him, smiling. ‘Oh, hello, it’s… I’m sorry, I forget your name,’ she said cheerfully.

‘It’s Remus.’

‘Of course it is,’ said Judith. ‘Fancy forgetting a name like that. Anyway, what can I get you today, Remus?’

‘I was hoping to have a word with you, actually,’ said Remus carefully. ‘About Cassie.’

‘Cassie?’ Judith’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. ‘What do you want to know about my Cassie? You’re not from Social Services, are you? Because if you are, I can tell you there’s nothing wrong with my daughter.’

‘No, no, of course there isn’t,’ said Remus quickly. ‘Perhaps we could discuss this somewhere more private?’ Judith looked dubious, so he continued, ‘we’re really not here to cause any trouble.’

‘I suppose you’d better come upstairs,’ said Judith, still eyeing Remus and, more particularly Dumbledore, with faint suspicion. ‘Give me a minute while I close up the shop.’

Remus waited until Judith had locked up and led them both up the narrow staircase to the flat over the shop before speaking again. He couldn’t help but think that Dumbledore looked more out of place than ever in the neat, but overcrowded living room. The woodchip wallpaper was peeling in places and the plethora of photographs of Cassie on the sideboard were in cheap, lovingly polished frames. Judith apologised for the boxes of stock lining the walls and switched on the two bar electric fire to warm the room. She might have well have turned on a hairdryer for all the warmth it gave.

‘Perhaps I should introduce you to my companion,’ said Remus politely as he accepted tea in a novelty mug. ‘This is Professor Dumbledore: he’s the Headmaster at my old school.’

‘Very pleased to meet you,’ said Dumbledore, extending a hand to Judith. She shook it warily.

‘Likewise, I’m sure,’ she said. ‘Look, I don’t mean to be rude, but do you mind telling me what you are doing here?’

‘Of course, madam,’ smiled Dumbledore. ‘As Remus says, I have the privilege of serving as Headmaster at a school for children with…special gifts. I very much hope to welcome Cassie to my school one day.’

The suggestion the Cassie might have ‘special gifts’ seemed to mollify Judith slightly, as her tone was softer when she next spoke. ‘Cassie’s down for Parkfield Comp, but it’s not the greatest school, to be honest. What’s the name of your school?’

Remus held his breath as Dumbledore answered. ‘Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.’

‘Hogwarts School of _what_?’ exclaimed Judith.

‘Witchcraft and Wizardry,’ repeated Dumbledore patiently. ‘It’s a school for magical children. Your daughter, Cassie, is a witch.’

Judith stared at him for a moment, open mouthed in amazement, and then burst out laughing. ‘All right, this is some sort of a joke, isn’t it? I’ll admit you had me going for a minute then.’ She glanced around the room quickly. ‘Have you got a TV crew hiding here or something?’

‘I can assure you, madam, that this is no joke,’ Dumbledore told her. ‘I would not presume to jest about such matters. Cassie is indeed a witch.’

‘Do I look like I was born yesterday?’ scoffed Judith. ‘I’m a bit old for fairy tales, Mr Dumbledore, and I know perfectly well that witches aren’t real.’

‘I understand your reluctance, of course,’ said Dumbledore. ‘Surely you must have noticed things about Cassie which are rather, shall we say, unusual? That perhaps things happen around her when she is angry or upset, which you may find difficult to explain?’

‘Right, the joke’s over,’ said Judith angrily, getting to her feet. ‘I think you’d better leave.’

‘Please, Judith, just hear us out,’ said Remus in a placating tone. ‘We really don’t mean any harm. You told me yourself that there were things you didn’t understand about Cassie, and if you know she’s a witch it’ll help explain—’

‘How dare you!’ hissed Judith. ‘How dare you come into my home and lecture me about my daughter! I don’t know what you’re playing at and, frankly, I don’t care, but I will not have you talking about my daughter like she’s some sort of a freak!’

‘I know, of course she’s not a freak,’ said Remus urgently. ‘She’s a—’

‘She is not a witch!’ shouted Judith.

‘Who’s not a witch, Mum?’

Cassie was standing in the doorway, twiddling one of her plaits between ink-smudged fingers.

‘Go to your room, Cassie,’ said Judith sternly. ‘Grown-ups are talking.’

‘But _Muuum_ ,’ wheedled Cassie, ‘I want to know what you’re talking about. It’s about me, isn’t it?’

‘I said, go to your room.’

Cassie huffed and wrinkled her nose in petulant annoyance, but didn’t argue. She flounced out off across the hall, dragging her schoolbag across the floor as she went and slammed her bedroom door shut behind her.

Judith slumped down on the battered-looking sofa, looking defeated. The cushions seemed to sink around her. ‘Well, I hope you’re pleased with yourselves,’ she said. ‘How am I going to explain all this to Cassie?’

‘I… it won’t be easy,’ said Remus gently. ‘But it really is for the best in the long run. Cassie needs to learn about her magic, how to use it properly.’

‘She hasn’t got any magic,’ said Judith, without any real conviction.

Remus smiled at her, trying to put her at some ease. Judith’s face was pale with exhaustion and anxiety—she couldn’t have been much older than thirty, but the dark circles under her eyes added years to her appearance. ‘The first time I came to the shop,’ he said, ‘I saw Cassie perform magic. When those boys were picking on her, she knocked the shelves down on their heads.’

Judith sighed and stared down, twiddling her hands in her lap. ‘It… things like that… happen sometimes. I’ve seen it before.’

‘It’s not bad,’ Remus assured her. ‘She just doesn’t understand what she’s doing. She can learn, though. At Hogwarts.’

‘Can you teach her?’ Judith asked, looking up sharply at Dumbledore. ‘At that school of yours? Can you teach her to make it stop?’

Dumbledore set down his tea mug on the plastic crate which served as a coffee table, smiling at Judith with a hint of regret. ‘Nothing can stop Cassie’s magic; it’s a part of her that will never go away. What we can teach her, is how to control it, to use it well.’

‘I see,’ answered Judith quietly, though Remus suspected she didn’t, really. ‘So are you both… magic?’

‘We are wizards, yes,’ confirmed Dumbledore, withdrawing his wand from his pocket. _‘Orchideous!_ ’ he exclaimed with a flourish, before presenting a very startled Judith with a large bouquet of flowers.

‘Thank you,’ she said weakly, taking the blooms with shaking hands.

They sat in silence for a few moments, Judith twiddling with the petals on the flowers with an expression of blank bewilderment on her face. Eventually she took a deep breath and pulled herself upright, steeling her resolve. ‘I need to talk to Cassie,’ she said. ‘Would you two mind hanging around for a bit? In case she has any questions?’

‘Of course,’ said Remus warmly. ‘We’d be happy to help.’

Judith had barely been out of the room for five minutes before there was a crash and an excited squeal, immediately followed by Cassie bursting into the room.

‘Is it true? Is it real? I’m really, really magic?’ Cassie was bouncing on the spot, her face flushed, pigtails swinging as she moved.

‘You’re really, really magic,’ Remus told her, smiling. ‘You’re a witch.’

‘Wow!’ said Cassie, clapping her hands together. ‘A _witch!_ Can I do spells, then? And ride a broomstick? Will I get a pointy hat, and a cauldron and a black cat? Ugh, I don’t have to grow a wart on the end of my nose, do I?’

‘Hey, settle down,’ said Judith as she walked into the room behind Cassie and placed her hands on her daughter’s shoulders. ‘One question at a time, eh?’

Cassie continued to wriggle on the spot, alive with childish glee. ‘You can tell me though, can’t you?’ she asked Remus. ‘I want to know _everything.’_

Remus laughed. ‘I’m not sure I can tell you everything,’ he said, ‘but to answer your questions, yes, you can learn to do spells and ride a broomstick. You’ll need a cauldron for potions and you can have a cat if you want as well. You needn’t grow a wart on your nose, although we can teach you a spell to get one if you like.’

‘ _Brilliant,_ ’ cooed Cassie, clasping her hands together excitedly.

Judith made more tea while Cassie bombarded Remus and Dumbledore with questions about magic, Hogwarts, and witches and wizards, pausing only occasionally to nibble on the plate of Jammy Dodgers her mother produced for their guests. Judith kept silent through most of the conversation, listening to Remus and Dumbledore’s explanations with a look of resigned detachment, as though she were watching someone else’s dream.

‘So, are there other witches like me?’ asked Cassie, licking biscuit crumbs off her fingers towards the end of a lengthy interrogation about magical lineage and Remus’ own family. ‘Ones who don’t have a witch for a mum?’

‘Not very many,’ said Remus, ‘but it isn’t all that unusual.’

‘Do you knew any?’

‘Yes,’ answered Remus slowly. ‘My friend Lily—’ 

‘Lily-and-James Lily?’ asked Cassie, head cocked to one side. ‘I’d been wondering about them. What happened to them?’

Remus paused, frowning. ‘Yes, Lily-and-James Lily. I was friends with them at school—at Hogwarts. They… they’re dead.’

‘I’m sorry,’ said Cassie sadly. ‘You must be very upset. Is that why you kept coming to see the hole in the street?’

‘Sort of,’ admitted Remus.

‘That’s such a shame,’ said Judith kindly. ‘I wondered when you came in before, if maybe you hadn’t lost someone… in the accident.’

‘I keep telling you, Mum, it wasn’t an accident,’ exclaimed Cassie loudly, hair bobbles swinging as she spoke.

Judith opened her mouth to protest, but Remus interrupted her. ‘Cassie’s right, I’m afraid. The explosion wasn’t an accident. The street was blown up… by a wizard.’

Judith shook her head firmly. ‘Look here, I’ve listened to some pretty tall stories from you today, but this just about takes the biscuit. I was putting the papers out when the gas main blew up, I saw it all with my own eyes.’

‘You didn’t see what really happened,’ said Remus cautiously. ‘No-one did. Except Cassie. What you thought you saw, what all the Muggles—that’s non-magical people—saw, that wasn’t real.’

‘So, what, we all just had collective hallucinations did we?’ demanded Judith. ‘Why would we all see what wasn’t there, and only Cassie see it any different?’

Remus hesitated. He could hardly tell Judith the truth—informing her that her memory had been tampered with by the Ministry of Magic would only frighten her, and lose whatever trust she had in him. ‘It’s…magic,’ he said vaguely, which was true as far as it went.

‘This brings us to the other matter we wished to discuss with you,’ said Dumbledore. Remus turned to look at the headmaster, grateful that he wouldn’t have to explain. ‘There is to be a trial to decide who caused the explosion. As the only witness, we were hoping that Cassie would give evidence. With your permission, of course.’

‘You want me to tell them about that rat-man?’ asked Cassie. ‘So that he’ll go to prison?’

‘Partly,’ said Remus. ‘We also want you to help get someone out of prison. You see, everyone thought—at least, all the wizards did—that someone else blew up the street. The other man you saw, Sirius. He’s in prison now, but if we can prove he didn’t do it, he’ll be let out.’

‘I didn’t see him do anything,’ said Cassie with a shrug. ‘I don’t mind telling anyone.’

‘I’m not so sure about this,’ said Judith cautiously. ‘Wizards, witches, people blowing things up, and now you want Cassie to go to court. I take it it’s not the Old Bailey we’re talking about here?’

‘No, it’s a wizard court, called the Wizengamot,’ explained Remus. ‘It… it probably won’t be a very pleasant experience for Cassie, I’m afraid. We wouldn’t ask, except… she’s the only one who saw what really happened.’

Judith ran her fingers through her hair, brow furrowed with confusion. ‘Can I have some time to think about it at least? When is this trial?’

‘Tomorrow,’ said Dumbledore. ‘I received word from Alastor Moody shortly before we arrived,’ he added, by way of explanation to Remus. Remus gaped in shock—of course, he shouldn’t have really been surprised that Crouch wouldn’t allow them time to prepare a proper defence for Sirius.

Cassie shot to her feet, staring at her mother with fierce intensity. ‘Let me do it, Mum, I don’t mind,’ she said. ‘You’re always telling me that I should tell the truth.’

‘I know, Cassie, but it’s not that simple,’ Judith replied weakly. She turned back to Dumbledore. ‘Cassie’s just a little girl,’ she said. ‘Why should she have to go through all this, going to court and everything?’

‘Because,’ said Dumbledore simply, ‘this little girl might be the only one who can save an innocent man’s life.’

Cassie continued to stare at Judith, bobbing on the spot, eyes imploring. Remus could hardly breathe as he waited for her answer.

‘I hardly feel like I know anything anymore,’ said Judith sadly, her eyes brimming with tears. She seemed to have no fight left in her. ‘If you’re all so certain… yes, Cassie can give evidence.’ 

~*~

Remus let himself back into the flat that evening feeling happier and more hopeful than he had for months. Sirius would be acquitted, he was sure of it, and they’d be together again. He all but danced around the flat, smiling to himself, the same soppy, eager grin he’d worn after Sirius had kissed him for the first time; slightly tipsy on crab apple cider and warmed by the late evening sun.

That night, curled up, contented like a cat in Sirius’ bed— _their_ bed—he slept soundly at last, dreams filled with deep grey eyes, warm breath dampening his neck, strong arms encircling his chest, a body pressed up close behind him, and the steady rhythm of Sirius’ heartbeat reverberating against his back.

~*~

The atrium at the Ministry of Magic was busier than Remus had ever seen it, swirling crowds pushing and shoving, rumours buzzing as a thousand theories about the biggest trial circulated between the assembled wizarding folk. Remus heard snatches of increasingly wild conversation as he pushed his way through the throng, almost amused that the truth was the only thing stranger than any of the half-baked stories being recounted by everyone who knew someone who had an aunt or a cousin or a neighbour who _knew_.

Remus had to fight his way through the crowd to get the lift down to the Department of Mysteries. The corridor was dark and imposing, but there were less people there, and Remus quickly spotted Alastor Moody waiting for him at the bottom of the steps down to the courtrooms.

Moody led Remus into an empty side room near Courtroom Ten. Windowless, and sparsely furnished with a desk and two chairs, Remus guessed it was used for interrogating suspects. He wondered if _he_ was about to face an interrogation.

‘Is there a problem?’ asked Remus hesitantly.

‘I’ll say,’ growled Moody. ‘Black’s refusing to testify.’

‘He’s _what_?’ Remus gaped at him, thunderstruck. ‘But why?’

Moody shrugged. ‘Your guess is as good as mine,’ he said. ‘Survivor’s guilt, perhaps. Or maybe it’s the effects of the Dementors. We were hoping you’d be able to talk him out of it.’

‘Me?’ said Remus, fraught with confusion and anxiety, until… ‘I can see Sirius?’

‘Aye,’ muttered Moody darkly. ‘Thought you’d better.’

Remus felt it before the door even opened; the dark, sinister cold crawling across his skin and curdling his blood. He could hear a dull roar in his ears as the heavy wooden door swung open and two tall, hooded figures drifted in, holding a semi-conscious prisoner between them in their death-scabbed hands.

The Dementors threw Sirius to the ground and drifted back out of the room without a sound.

‘You’ve got fifteen minutes,’ growled Moody, throwing a bar of chocolate towards Remus. ‘You’d best make it count if you don’t want them to keep him.’ He stumped out of the room, turning the heavy iron bolt in the door as he went, leaving Remus alone with Sirius.

‘Sirius?’ Remus crouched down on the ground beside Sirius, placing a hand on his shoulder to turn him over. ‘Padfoot, are you all right?’

The question seemed ridiculously banal when Sirius turned and blinked up at him with bloodshot eyes. His skin was unnaturally pale save for a livid purple bruise on his temple. ‘Moony,’ he croaked, the word sounding painful in his throat.

‘Here, eat this,’ said Remus, scrabbling for the chocolate Moody had left and pressing a piece between Sirius’ cracked lips. Sirius chewed it with some difficulty.

‘C’mon,’ said Remus softly when Sirius had forced down a couple of squares of chocolate, ‘let’s get you up off the floor.’ He hooked his hands under Sirius’ arms and half-lifted, half-dragged him up onto one of the hard, straight-backed chairs. Sirius barely had the strength to sit upright, slumping across the table and hiding his face in his hands.

Remus sat down in the chair opposite Sirius and looked at him with a mixture of pain and fear. Sirius had lost weight, his skin and eyes were dull and he was filthier than Remus had ever seen him. _If he looks this bad after just a few weeks_ … Remus shook himself: he wasn’t going to think like that.

‘Moody says you don’t want to testify,’ Remus said quietly, trying to keep his tone even and free of accusation. ‘Why?’

Sirius raised his head slowly, but kept his eyes cast down. ‘I can’t,’ he whispered. ‘It’s my fault that Lily and James died. It was my idea to use Peter as the Secret Keeper. If I didn’t… if I hadn’t… It’s all my fault.’

‘No, it isn’t,’ said Remus firmly, gasping hold of Sirius’ hands across the table. ‘Peter betrayed Lily and James, Peter worked for Voldemort, and Peter tried to frame you for murder. You didn’t know he would betray us. It’s not your fault.’

‘I…’ Sirius gulped. ‘I thought it was you. I thought that probably… you were probably the spy. I’m so sorry, Moony. I let you down again.’

Remus stared at him anxiously. Sirius’ hands were trembling beneath his own, and his shoulders were shaking. Locks of dirty, matted hair obscured his face, and Remus couldn’t see if Sirius was crying. ‘It doesn’t matter,’ he said at last, and it didn’t. He didn’t care what mistakes Sirius had made, or what he’d thought of him: nothing mattered except getting Sirius out of Azkaban. ‘It doesn’t matter, Padfoot,’ he repeatedly softly. ‘I just want you to come home.’

Sirius looked at him, confusion clouding his grief-stricken features. ‘I screwed everything up. I didn’t trust you and I let Peter sell Lily and James to Voldemort. I promised them, Moony, I promised I’d keep them safe and I didn’t do it. What difference will it make if they let me out? Lily and James’ll still be dead.’

Aching, Remus searched for the words to convince Sirius. He wanted to shout at Sirius, to shake him by the shoulders and tell him, _It’ll make a difference to ME, because I love you and I need you and I can’t cope with this on my own._ But he was scared that it isn’t enough. He swallowed hard. ‘What about Harry? Do you want him to grow up thinking his godfather betrayed his mum and dad?’

This, at least, seemed to shake Sirius out of his melancholy. He sat bolt upright, panicked. ‘You’ll tell him, Moony, won’t you? Let him know the truth.’

‘Why should he believe me?’ asked Remus, forcing himself to keep his voice cool. ‘Why wouldn’t an innocent man tell the truth at his own trial? Even if he does believe me, what’s he going to think when he finds out that you didn’t even try to get out of prison for him?’

‘I…’ stuttered Sirius, eyes wild and desperate, but there was something there—a trace, a spark, a glimmer of energy behind the empty mask of misery and remorse he wore. ‘It’s not like that!’

‘Is it not, Padfoot?’ said Remus coldly. He hated himself for adding to Sirius’ suffocating guilt, twisting it, using it to manipulate him. It was for Sirius’ own good, he told himself, because _something_ had to provoke him into speaking out for himself. ‘You promised Lily and James that you’d look after Harry if anything happened to them, and you can’t do that if you’re in Azkaban. You have to get out for Harry: you owe it to them.’

Sirius bit his lip, apparently thinking hard. ‘OK,’ he said quietly. ‘I’ll do my best.’

Remus smiled, relief flooding through him. It was only as he started to relax that he realised that his entire body had been taut with tension. ‘Good,’ he said. Sirius managed a small, shy almost-smile in return. ‘You will be cleared,’ Remus assured him, raising his hand to stroke a strand of hair off Sirius’ face. ‘You’ll be home soon.’

Sirius blinked back at him, so vulnerable and frail it hurt Remus to look at him. ‘I don’t know what I’m going to do,’ he confessed weakly.

‘It’s OK,’ Remus told him gently. ‘I’ll look after you.’

Sirius swallowed heavily and forced a smile. ‘I don’t deserve you,’ he said with a shaky laugh. 

‘Just… just go in there and tell them the truth,’ Remus told him. He leant across the table and kissed Sirius lightly on the forehead. ‘I love you.’

This time the smile reached Sirius’ eyes. ‘I—’ he began, but was interrupted by the door banging open and Alastor Moody marching back in.

‘Lupin managed to talk some sense into you yet?’ he demanded of Sirius.

Sirius nodded. ‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘Yes, he has.’

‘Good,’ said Moody gruffly. ‘I was starting to wonder if I shouldn’t reconsider my views on using Unforgiveables on suspects if you wouldn’t speak up of your own accord. Right, Lupin, you come with me. Black, you’ll have to stay here for a bit, I’m afraid.’

As he spoke, the room was filled with the icy chill that heralded the return of the Dementors. Remus’ stomach contorted at the prospect of leaving Sirius with those monsters as they floated soundlessly back into the room, and Sirius seemed to shrink back into himself as they approached. 

‘Not much longer,’ he assured Sirius, dropping the remainder of the chocolate in his lap—for all the good it would do with him trapped at their mercy, but at least it was something. ‘I’ll see you soon.’

Sirius didn’t get a chance to reply, as Moody dragged Remus back out of the room.

‘Right there, laddie?’ asked Moody brightly, clapping Remus on the arm. He didn’t wait for an answer. ‘You can go into the court now. The girl’s giving her evidence first, before they bring the defendants in. Dumbledore’s idea—doesn’t want her to be in there while there are Dementors around. Well, off you go then!’

‘Right, thanks,’ said Remus weakly, fighting back the mental image of Sirius’ terror as the Dementors approached him. He turned and walked towards the court, fighting back the overwhelming waves of nausea, suddenly more terrified than he could remember being. This was it.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sirius and Peter go on trial before the Wizengamot. Will justice prevail at last?

The courtroom was packed: the dark, imposing room filled with the entire Wizengamot council, resplendent in their plum robes, and hundreds of spectators. Remus scanned the rows of benches until he found Judith, sitting anxiously near the front of the public gallery. She smiled slightly as he went and sat beside her.

‘Hi,’ he said. ‘Dumbledore get you sorted all right?’

Judith nodded. ‘Yes, he brought us in and showed me and Cassie where to go. He’s with her now. There was this woman—witch, I suppose—who wanted to see Cassie first. She seemed nice enough, but…’ Judith glanced around the room, bewildered. ‘This is all a bit much to take in.’

Remus watched her sympathetically as her eyes flitted nervously around the flaming wall torches, high stone walls and array of witches and wizards in what must look to her to be some sort of bizarre fancy dress. ‘I can only imagine how strange it must seem,’ he said.

Judith let out a small, ironic laugh. ‘I suppose I’m going to have to get used to strange things, aren’t I?’

‘Well, yes,’ Remus admitted. ‘But most of them won’t be as intimidating as this. How is Cassie?’

‘Oh, she seems fine,’ said Judith. ‘Taking it all in her stride. It’s me who’s a nervous wreck. But Cassie… she’s a determined little girl that one. She wants to do it.’

‘It’s a brave thing that she’s doing,’ said Remus. ‘I can’t tell you how much it means to me. You must be very proud of her.’

‘Yes,’ said Judith, the anxiety lifting from her face for a moment. ‘Yes, I really am.’

Remus smiled and went back to scanning the courtroom. Millicent Bagnold, the Minister for Magic, sat in the centre of the front row of members of the Wizengamot Council. Despite being close to retirement, Bagnold was an imposing figure: tall and broad shouldered with strong, high cheekbones and piercing dark eyes. Her silver hair was wound tightly into a bun, and she stared down her long nose at a sheet of parchment, frowning slightly. Barty Crouch was on her left, talking animatedly and gesticulating wildly at the parchment, but Bagnold waved him away with a dismissive gesture. Remus felt a flicker of satisfaction as he realised that Crouch’s influence had obviously been diminished following his son’s arrest. He wasn’t particularly proud of his _schadenfreude_ , but felt on this occasion that it was justified.

Bagnold looked up and banged a gavel on her desk. A hushed silence fell over the courtroom as two hundred witches and wizards turned in rapt attention. ‘Members of the Wizengamot, ladies and gentleman, I call this court to order.’ Bagnold’s words rang out clear and confident, though she didn’t raise her voice. Remus got the impression that she was used to people paying attention when she spoke. ‘We are here to try Peter Pettigrew and Sirius Black for some of the most serious offences ever brought before this court: specifically, membership in the illegal organisation known as the Death Eaters; conspiracy to murder James and Lily Potter, and the murder of twelve Muggles. Black is additionally charged with the attempted murder of Peter Pettigrew, and Pettigrew with attempting to pervert the course of justice.’ 

‘Our first witness is a young Muggle-born witch. Before the witness gives evidence, may I remind members of the court that she is but a child, furthermore that she became aware of our world only yesterday. I would hope, therefore, that members of this council will refrain from questioning her in a manner more befitting a suspected Death Eater.’ Bagnold looked pointedly at Crouch, who did a poor job of hiding his scowl, but restrained himself from speaking. ‘Very well,’ she continued, ‘bring in the witness.’

The doors swung upon and Cassie entered the room, flanked on one side by Dumbledore and on the other by Amelia Bones. Cassie seemed, to Remus’ eyes, more small and vulnerable than he’d ever seen her, walking through the imposing courtroom, outfitted in her neatly-pressed tartan skirt, hand-knitted jumper, and shiny patent black shoes. Her eyes were wide as galleons as she looked around, awe-struck at the imposing scene and the hundreds of eyes trained upon her. Judith smiled encouragingly and gave Cassie a slight wave, but the girl didn’t appear to see her. Remus felt a twinge of guilt for subjecting a child to this ordeal. It was only the memory of Sirius, half-broken by Azkaban already, that kept him from wanting to call out to make the court let her go.

Bagnold smiled down at Cassie encouragingly as she took a seat between Dumbledore and Bones—Remus was relieved to note that ordinary chairs had been placed before the bench. ‘Please tell us your name and address, child.’

‘Cassie Smith, 26b Leytonstone Road South, Peckham,’ said Cassie clearly, her voice only wavering slightly as she spoke.

‘Now, Miss Smith, I understand you wish to tell us about some things you saw outside your home on the morning of the first of November this year?’

‘Yes, miss,’ nodded Cassie. She recounted the story she had told Remus, her voice becoming increasingly confident as she spoke. Once or twice murmurs of shock or dissent erupted around the court, only to be silenced by a stern look from Bagnold. Remus felt profoundly grateful that she, not Crouch, was conducting the trial personally, as much for Cassie’s sake as for Sirius.’

‘Are you certain of this?’ asked Bagnold once Cassie had finished speaking.

‘Yes, miss,’ said Cassie, chin tilted up defiantly. ‘I’m certain.’

‘Minister, if I might be permitted to speak,’ interrupted Crouch in his familiar, oily tone.

‘I daresay I shall have some difficulty preventing it,’ commented Bagnold dryly. ‘Very well, Crouch, what is your point?’

‘Just to say, are we really to take this child at her word?’ said Crouch. ‘She is merely a girl, and the court has been offered no proof of her magical abilities. In addition, her evidence is in direct contradiction of the statements we took from a number of witnesses at the scene.’

Cassie jumped to her feet and glared at Crouch. ‘I’m telling the truth!’ she shouted. ‘I was there, I saw what happened, and you didn’t!’

Dumbledore stood and coughed politely, placing a hand gently on Cassie’s shoulder to quiet her. ‘Minister, perhaps I may be of assistance in this matter?’ he said, pausing until Bagnold nodded. ‘I have conferred with my deputy Headmistress, Professor McGonagall. She tells me that young Cassie can be found on her list of prospective students, and will be receiving her Hogwarts letter on her eleventh birthday.” He smiled at Cassie. “Which is next June if my memory serves me correctly.’

‘I’ve examined the child myself,’ threw in Madam Bones. ‘She is indeed in possession of some rudimentary magical powers. I am also confident that her memory has not been tampered with,’ she finished with a significant glance at Crouch.

‘But the other witnesses!’ blustered Crouch.

‘Did not see what caused the explosion,’ said Bones calmly. ‘I have been through the statements thoroughly, and none of the other witnesses had such a clear view of Pettigrew as Miss Smith. I would also add that Black’s wand has been examined, and the last spell cast with it was _Lumos_ , which confirms the girl’s story about him shining a light down a drain.’

‘He could still have done it,’ insisted Crouch tetchily.

‘Is that so?’ asked Bagnold, turning to him and arching an eyebrow. ‘I must confess I was unaware that any Muggle deaths have been caused by _Lumos_. Perhaps you could enlighten me, Mr Crouch?’

Remus couldn’t help but smile to himself as Crouch sputtered, but didn’t argue. On the floor of the court, Cassie was starting to fidget uncomfortably.

‘Please, miss,’ said Cassie, raising her hand tentatively. ‘May I be excused?’

‘Of course you may, dear,’ said Bagnold, smiling indulgently. ‘The court thanks you for your assistance.’

As Dumbledore and Madam Bones escorted Cassie back out of the courtroom, Judith stood to follow, but turned back to Remus before she left. ‘Good luck,’ she whispered. ‘I hope it works out all right for you, and your friend.’

‘Thank you,’ said Remus. ‘And pass on my thanks to Cassie as well. She was brilliant.’

Judith smiled. ‘Yes, she was, wasn’t she?’ she said, slightly awed. 

‘Would it be all right if I came to see Cassie after the trial?’ asked Remus tentatively. ‘I’d like to thank her myself.’

‘Of course,’ Judith answered warmly. ‘I’m sure Cassie would like that too. Though I must warn you that you’ll face another hundred and one questions about broomsticks and flying cats.’

‘It would be my pleasure to answer every one,’ Remus told her, feeling genuine affection for the strange, bold little girl and her mother.

The rest of the morning was taken up with technicalities. Remus sat in anxious silence as statements were read and evidence examined from both the scene of the explosion and Godric’s Hollow. Dumbledore, Moody and Bones all gave evidence themselves, as did Arthur Weasley and the two Aurors who’d seen Peter transform in Moody’s office. Remus wondered if it didn’t make him rather a coward that he was grateful that he was not called to give evidence himself. He suspected that Moody and Dumbledore were deliberately keeping him out of the proceedings as much as possible, whether to protect his own feelings or deflect accusations that he was unfairly biased in Sirius’ favour, Remus wasn’t sure. As he sat and watched the trial progress, his throat felt so tight he didn’t think he could have spoken if he had been asked.

When the court adjourned for lunch, Remus joined Dumbledore and Moody in the Auror’s office, anxious to hear their impression of how the trial was going. He felt sure that all the evidence so far was in Sirius’ favour, and grateful that Millicent Bagnold appeared committed to conducting the trial fairly, but less confident than he had the previous night. His skin prickled with the same nervous anxiety he felt before his annual interviews with the Werewolf Registry—acutely aware than his future hung on the whims of the Ministry, that he was powerless in the face of a capricious bureaucracy. Peter and Sirius still had to give evidence, and Remus was frightened that Sirius wouldn’t be able to tell his story clearly, too overcome with grief and weakened by prolonged exposure to the Dementors.

Remus listened carefully as Moody and Dumbledore discussed the morning’s hearing, and the likelihood of Sirius being cleared. His heart sank as Moody reeled off a list of Wizengamot members he felt sure would return a guilty verdict, regardless of the evidence.

‘’Course, some of them’ll just look at the name and that’s enough to make up their minds,’ sneered Moody. ‘Brother was a Death Eater, cousin’s a Death Eater, parents were Death Eater sympathisers. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, or so they say.’

‘Sirius hated his family,’ said Remus bitterly. ‘I don’t suppose any of them even care that he ran away from home to get away from all that rubbish.’

‘Alas, that seems unlikely,’ said Dumbledore quietly. ‘To believe otherwise would be to suppose that prejudice can be overcome with simple logic.’

Remus scowled to himself, remembering the last time Sirius had seen his mother—on Platform 9¾, at the start of their sixth year. Mrs Potter had fussed excessively over Sirius, pausing only to glance in disgust at the elder Blacks, while James kept up a constant stream of random babbling in a bid to distract Sirius’ attention from his mother. Sirius had remained stone-faced and impassive throughout, refusing to cast so much as a glance towards his family, but Remus could barely keep his eyes off them: he’d never felt absolute hatred for anyone before.

Dumbledore shook Remus out of his reverie by passing over a plate of curling cheese sandwiches from the Ministry canteen. Remus took one purely for the sake of manners, but struggled to eat it; the food clung to the roof of his mouth and stuck in his throat. After forcing down three mouthfuls, he was grateful when Moody announced it was time to get back to Courtroom Ten, though his stomach felt like lead as he walked downstairs.

The court was packed as before, but the atmosphere was much changed. The air was thick with tension and the frantic twittering of the audience had been replaced with anxious whispering. The members of the Wizengamot council filed into place in silence, and it took only a cough from Millicent Bagnold to call the court to order. As they took their seats, Remus noted with grim satisfaction that Crouch was now sitting in the back row. Judging by the sulky expression he wore, Remus guessed that Bagnold had relegated him to a less prominent position for his outbursts that morning.

Remus sat and waited in increasing terror as Bagnold went through the preliminaries, clenching and unclenching his fists and forcing himself to breathe. He tried not to look at the pair of stark metal chairs in the centre of the courtroom, chains hanging ominously from their arms, but felt unable to resist the sinister temptation to keep looking, feeding his own dread. 

Bagnold’s voice rang out sharply across the court. ‘Bring in the accused,’ she said loudly.

The heavy wooden doors of the courtroom swung open once more and an icy chill crept through the room. Remus couldn’t help but shiver, with fear as much as cold.

People in the rows closest to the front recoiled as the four Dementors swept in, bringing Peter and Sirius with them. Remus felt a small amount of relief to see Sirius walk in without help —Peter was dragged across the room, knees bent as he muttered a stream of feeble protestations. The Dementors threw Peter and Sirius to the chairs, the chains instantly springing to life and binding them in place. Remus winced as he saw the chains wrapped around Sirius’ arms, holding him down as if he were some common criminal.

The Dementors glided back out of the room without a sound, but Remus could still feel their graveyard chill in his bones. He could barely stand to look at Sirius, who was struggling to sit upright and not cower in his seat like Peter. _Always so proud_ , he reflected, remembering that Sirius never did lose the haughty bearing born of centuries of pure-blood privilege. 

Bagnold addressed Sirius first. ‘Sirius Black, you have heard the charges against you. How do you plead?’

‘Not guilty,’ said Sirius. His voice was croaky, but he looked Bagnold in the eye as he spoke. Remus almost smiled in relief and affection, gently chastising himself for doubting that Sirius would be able to testify.

‘On all charges?’ queried Bagnold.

‘On all charges,’ confirmed Sirius, still looking straight up at her.

‘I see,’ said Bagnold. ‘Do you have anything to say in your own defence?’

Sirius took a shaky breath before he started to speak. Remus listened, transfixed, as he explained that he’d advised Lily and James to use Peter as their Secret Keeper, certain that the bluff would fool Voldemort. Sirius’ voice wavered when he told how he’d panicked when Peter had disappeared at Halloween, finally breaking into muffled sobs as he recounted the moment he’d found Lily and James’ bodies in the rubble of their home. It was agonizing for Remus to listen to Sirius - unable to offer help or comfort, or to give him some sign of support; unable to do anything but simply _will_ Sirius to hear his litany of silent encouragement. _You can do it, Padfoot, it’s not your fault._

‘Could you tell the court what happened after you left Godric’s Hollow that evening?’ asked Bagnold briskly.

‘I went looking for _him_ ,’ snarled Sirius, looking at Peter with venom. ‘I realised what he must have done, and I wanted him to pay for it.’

‘Mr Black, you have pleaded not guilty to the charge of attempting to murder Mr Pettigrew,’ said Bagnold sternly. ‘Do you admit, now, that you did try to kill him?’

‘I never got the chance,’ muttered Sirius darkly. ‘When I found Peter he shouted that I’d betrayed Lily and James, then blew up half the street before disappearing into the sewer.’ Sirius turned to Peter, straining against his bonds to lean towards him. ‘I wish I had killed you,’ he told Peter angrily. ‘How dare you run off like the vermin you are? How dare you live when you sent Lily and James to their deaths?’

Peter whimpered and recoiled in his seat, looking terrified as Sirius glowered at him with loathing. 

‘Mr Black, kindly remember where you are,’ instructed Bagnold. ‘It is for this court to decide the fate of the accused, not you.’

Remus bit his lip anxiously, inwardly praying that Sirius would control his temper. If Sirius defied the court or continued to threaten Peter, Remus felt sure it would damage his defence. To his intense relief, Sirius didn’t respond, though he continued to stare at Peter with unbridled hatred, his mouth contorted in a very canine snarl.

‘I will take your silence as acquiescence,’ said Bagnold. ‘So I turn to you, Mr Pettigrew. How do you plead to the charges put before this court.’

‘N—not guilty,’ stammered Peter. ‘I didn’t do anything! It was him, he tried to kill me!’ With a tilt of his head, Peter indicated Sirius, who was almost growling in anger at him. Remus flinched at the expression of furious hatred on Sirius’ face, terrified he might do or say something to harm his case.

‘Were you the Secret Keeper for the Potters?’ asked Bagnold.

‘No!’ squeaked Peter. ‘No, it wasn’t me, it was him!’

‘Don’t lie!’ roared Sirius, incandescent with rage.

‘Mr Black, I will not remind you again!’ exclaimed Bagnold. ‘This is a court of law, not the back room of the Hog’s Head, and I will thank you to hold your tongue.’

Sirius shrank back slightly in his seat and didn’t answer, but he continued to watch Peter’s squirming with an expression of deep loathing.

‘Mr Pettigrew, this court has heard evidence that the last spell performed with Lily Potter’s wand was the Fidelius Charm, naming you as the Potters’ Secret Keeper,’ said Bagnold. ‘If you were not, as you say, the Secret Keeper, how might you account for this?’

‘I… I don’t know,’ said Peter, sounding slightly hysterical. ‘It must be… some sort of Dark Magic. He’s trying to frame me!’

Remus flinched as Sirius leant towards Peter again, face livid as he opened his mouth to speak, but, clearly exerting great force of will, he didn’t shout at Peter. ‘And how might I have done that, Peter?’ he sneered. ‘It seems you’re the real expert on Dark Magic now.’

‘It’s a fair question,’ frowned Bagnold. ‘Madam Bones, you conducted the inquiry when then Charm was revealed. Do you have any reason to believe the wand had been tampered with?’

‘None whatsoever, Minister,’ said Bones, who had taken Crouch’s place beside her. ‘The wand has been thoroughly inspected by members of the Department for Magical Law Enforcement, who found no trace of any Dark Magic. I would also remind the court that the Fidelius Charm is notoriously difficult to cast and would be extremely hard to reproduce. Professor Dumbledore has also confirmed that the voice heard coming from the wand was indeed Lily Potter’s.’

‘That seems settled, then,’ said Bagnold. ‘There is no doubt about the veracity of the evidence from the wand. I will ask you again, Mr Pettigrew, were you the Secret Keeper for the Potters?’

‘I—I didn’t mean to… I never wanted to do it.’ Peter’s voice was shrill; he appeared to be becoming hysterical. Remus felt a tight knot of anger and disgust as his old friend wriggled and sobbed before the court, pathetically searching for an excuse for his treachery.

‘You didn’t mean to reveal the Potters’ location to Voldemort?’ asked Bagnold shrewdly.

‘No, no, of course not,’ sobbed Peter. ‘He would have killed me.’

‘ _You should have died,_ ’ hissed Sirius venomously. Peter recoiled still further, whimpering.

Bagnold seemed willing to let this outburst pass, for she continued to question Peter. ‘But you did do it?’ she said curtly. ‘You did send Voldemort after the Potters?’

Peter didn’t answer: just sobbed wretchedly, trying to turn his face away. It made Remus feel sick just to look at him. How had the slightly dim-witted, but apparently devoted friend he had known at school become this snivelling excuse for a Death Eater? Peter had killed Lily and James as surely as if he’d cast the Curse himself and for a time—Remus shifted in his seat, restless beneath a wave of self-recrimination—convinced Remus to doubt everything he knew about Sirius Black. Hatred consumed him—Remus felt the heat of it in his face, and for a second he could have killed Peter himself.

‘I see you have no answer,’ commented Bagnold coldly. ‘Very well, perhaps you can tell the court why you faked your own death?’

‘I—I was frightened,’ gulped Peter. ‘I knew—I knew Sirius would come after me again. He tried to kill me!’

Bagnold didn’t bat an eyelid. ‘Mr Black has been in Ministry custody since the morning of the first of November,’ she said. ‘I therefore find it difficult to understand why you believed he might “come after you” as you so eloquently put it. Why did you not approach the Ministry of your own volition?’

Again, Peter failed to answer, muttering and twisting in his seat.

‘Do you have anything to add in your defence?’ asked Bagnold.

‘It wasn’t me,’ whined Peter. 

Bagnold snorted, and drew herself up. ‘Members of the council,’ she said, looking around at the Wizengamot members. ‘I believe the case against Pettigrew is overwhelming. All those in favour of convicting him on all charges, please raise your hands.’

Remus’ heart was pounding as he waited for the council’s answer. Slowly, but surely, the unsmiling rows of plum-robed officials raised their hands, until each and every one of them pronounced their silent, unanimous verdict. Guilty. Remus didn’t know whether to shout with joy at the victory, or weep for the loss of the friend he once knew.

Peter was sobbing and wailing louder than ever, struggling against the chains that held him still. Beside him, Sirius sat unmoving and impassive, his face a picture of cold rage and revulsion.

‘Peter Pettigrew, you have been convicted of the most serious charges to come before this court,’ said Bagnold gravely. ‘You are hereby sentenced to life in Azkaban. Take him away.’

Peter’s screams pierced the court as a Junior Clerk opened to court door to let the Dementors back in. As their presence chilled him, and he watched the Dementors carry Peter away, Remus could feel no compassion for him—not when he saw the pain and fear on Sirius’ face when the Dementors drew near. 

Once Peter’s screams had faded, the court fell completely silent. Bagnold turned her attention back to Sirius. ‘Mr Black, it is your contention that you are innocent of all the charges against you, and that though you confess a desire to kill Pettigrew for his offences, you made no attempt on his life?

‘Yes,’ said Sirius clearly.

‘Despite your extraordinary outbursts in this court, I am inclined to believe you,’ said Bagnold. ‘However, this must be put to the council. Those in favour of convicting Black?’

A number of the council raised their hands. Remus’ eyes flitted back and forth over the rows of Wizengamot members, desperately trying to count how many of them held their hands up. The mixture of fear, hope and excitement terrified him. He could scarcely bear to look, he could scarcely _think…_

‘And those against,’ said Bagnold evenly. Remus had to force himself to look as the voting continued. One after the other, hands went up, including Bagnold’s own. Remus couldn’t count them, hardly believed what his eyes were telling him, but there were more, he hoped fervently, there had to be more.

‘The verdict is clear,’ announced Bagnold. ‘Mr Black, you are acquitted of all charges.’ Sirius sat in stunned silence as the chains unravelled from his arms and clanked noisily to the ground. ‘You are free to go,’ Bagnold continued. ‘Court dismissed.’

The entire room erupted in a frenzy of excited babbling the moment Bagnold stood to leave. Remus’ legs felt weak beneath him as he fought his way through the crowd to get to Sirius, mercilessly elbowing aside the chattering witches and wizards who stood in his way. When he finally reached the centre of the courtroom, Sirius was still sitting on the chained chair, looking tired and bewildered.

‘Moony?’ he said quietly, struggling to his feet. Remus reached out and embraced him, holding Sirius so tightly he was almost crushing him. Drained of the energy his hatred of Peter had given him during the trial, Sirius hung limply in his arms as Remus fought back tears of joy and relief.

‘You did it, Pads,’ he said, almost laughing as he drew back and held Sirius’ face in his hands. ‘You’re free.’ Sirius managed a shaky smile as the knowledge sank in, and it was all Remus could do not to kiss him there and then, not caring about scandalising the throng of onlookers. 

He pulled Sirius back towards him, thrilled when Sirius returned the hug, holding onto Remus’ waist, head buried in his neck as he whispered, ‘take me home, Moony.’

‘C’mon then,’ said Remus, grinning as he pulled Sirius towards the door of the court, still holding on for dear life and promising himself he would never, ever let him go again.

Jostled by the crowd, they made there way out of the courtroom. Remus felt unable stop himself from turning and smiling at Sirius every other second, so dizzy with elation he felt it was hardly real. Moody and Dumbledore greeted them just outside the courtroom, beckoning them back into the side room where Remus had talked to Sirius before the trial. Sirius baulked at going back in.

‘It’s all right,’ Remus assured him. ‘No more Dementors.’

‘No more?’ Sirius gulped.

‘Never,’ Remus promised him, smiling. ‘They won’t hurt you again.’

Sirius smiled weakly with relief, and allowed himself to slip through the door. Moody slapped him and Remus on the back, shaking their hands and offering hearty congratulations that Remus didn’t really hear, while Dumbledore simply smiled.

‘Thank you, thank you both so much,’ gushed Remus, unable to contain or eloquently express his gratitude and happiness. ‘I can’t… I can hardly believe it.’ He turned and looked back at Sirius again, reminding himself that Sirius was really there. He was free.

‘Yes… thank you,’ said Sirius, sounding choked. ‘I don’t know…’

‘Ach, save the speeches for later,’ said Moody cheerfully. ‘You’ll be wanting your wand back, I suppose?’ he added, pulling it out of his robes and handing it to Sirius, who accepted it with a shaking hand.

‘Cheers,’ he muttered, grinning nervously. Sirius fell silent for a moment, staring at the wand in his hand before looking up at Dumbledore. ‘Professor—Harry, how is he?’ he asked.

Dumbledore smiled. ‘Harry is safe and well, have no fear.’ Sirius opened his mouth to speak again, but Dumbledore raised his hand to stop him. ‘All in good time, Sirius,’ he said gently. ‘We can discuss Harry later. In the meantime, I suggest you go home and rest. You’ve quite an ordeal to recover from.’

‘Aye, and you’re likely to face another one on the way out,’ said Moody grimly. ‘I saw that reporter from the _Prophet_ loitering in the corridor.’

‘Perhaps it would be best to avoid the public exits,’ said Dumbledore wryly as he withdrew a sheaf of parchment from his robes. ‘One does so hate to interfere with Miss Skeeter’s creative endeavours with any more troublesome facts than are absolutely necessary.’ He tapped the parchment with his wand and muttered, ‘ _Portus._ ’ The parchment glowed blue and trembled in his hand momentarily, before turning back to its usual form. Dumbledore turned to Sirius, holding out the rolled-up parchment. ‘I’m not convinced you are ready to Apparate,’ he said kindly. ‘This portkey will take you home.’

‘Thank you,’ said Sirius. He glanced over at Remus, almost shyly. Remus nodded and reached out to clasp Sirius’ hand in his own, threading their fingers together. Despite the dirty-grey skin and scabbed knuckles, Sirius’ touch was warm and familiar as he squeezed Remus’ hand. Then, with one movement, they reached out and grasped the portkey. Remus’ stomach jolted as the magic pulled them out of the room, and carried them back home. Together.


End file.
